


Adapting

by treesharadia



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:49:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3837703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treesharadia/pseuds/treesharadia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone wanted new rights, since the establishment of a new Galbadian government, the revolution of Timbre, the re-emergence of the Dollet Monarchy and so on and so forth. The masses had no time to worship and raise from the netherworld tyrannical mad women with a penchant for gothic robes and thick goth makeup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adapting

Author: Treesh Aradia

Rating: PT

Disclaimer: Not mine. Square’s.

 

No one came for him. Seifer Almasy was waiting for them - every night for more days than he could count. It was as if the hands of God were before him, shielding him from his executioners. However, he knew what he had was borrowed time.

_Regrets collect like old friends_

So he continued a life of nothing. No accomplishment, only fishing. In a peaceful town that reeked of _nothing_ really. His old friends were sent away like the traitors they were not. He treasured the solitary life he made for himself.

_Here to relive your darkest moments_

He sang songs of old, songs he remembered from the orphanage, and stared out into the great beyond from his position at the docks. He wondered how _they_ were, if they were reaping the fruits of their hard toil, the fruits of battles won, wounds collected and the defeat of Knights who had no business playing games of treachery.

_I can see no way, I can see no way_

During this reflective life he made for himself, he survived the establishment of two new Gardens and three unfortunate hairstyles that were inspired by Fountain Dragon’s leading man, an effeminate named Justin Hiver.

Until a ship arrived and the halcyon sea town greeted the boundless energy it brought with it.

**_ And all of the ghouls come out to play… _ **

*

She wondered how expansive the sea was. Lately, all she wanted to do was swim in it. Enjoy the fading youth that she had. It was tiring having one’s body honed to perfection, to being the perfect killing machine. _Wouldn’t it be wonderful to feel the water against my skin_? To forego timing how long she could breathe underwater, to forget the rules for underwater warfare: #3 never leave your psy-gun at home.

_And every demon wants his pound of flesh_

Lately, she thought about the people whom she had lost with a wistful sigh. Death was always so final and anything less than that even more of a waste.

_But I like to keep some things to myself_

 “Quistis! We’re here. A shame about the time we have. Or lack thereof! Fisherman’s Horizon would be the perfect vacation spot.” Selphie Tilmitt, once nicknamed _Messenger Girl_ in bright yellow, said.

Quistis turned to her friend and sister-in-arms and reviewed her assessment. _Time left its imprints on everyone it seemed_ , she thought to herself as she saw the tame and sombre greys Selphie called attire.

_I like to keep my issues strong_

 “Let’s go.”

**_ It's always darkest before the dawn _ **

*

The mission, if it could be called that, was simple: collect information on the remains of the sorceress they fought with 6 years ago, whence they were kids and wet behind the ears.

It was also an exercise in futility since any remains they could have collected went out in a blaze of hyper-energy. Flesh and bones had disintegrated, atomised and turned to dust upon the defeat of old magic holding an ancient body together from the impact of their collected efforts – Squall’s Renzokuken, Zell’s bloody fists, Irvine’s pulse shots, and surprisingly the death blow issued by the joint Ultima summons from Quistis - expected, and her inconspicuous, oft-underestimated, smaller-framed team mate, Selphie Tilmitt – _very_ unexpected.

Quistis had tried to argue with the Garden Panel, made up of 6 headmasters and their commanders, against accepting a mission that would not only strain resources, neglect the fact that she was a Level-A Seed (damn it!), and most importantly result in a basket of nothing. For it was nothing. Ultimecia’s demise left her with no body to bury, much less retrieve. For her efforts, she was met with imperious, unmoving figures, not even sparing her a modicum of respect as they dismissed her to move onto agenda items of a more pressing nature – the possible threat of a sorceress uprising.

With what little control she had, she left the panel, located in the newly-developed area of the Centra Ruins, barely able to not tear her hair out. Quistis was pragmatic. She observed and analysed facts before methodically deducing, inducing and coming up with a hypothesis. She was paid to be Seed, but she excelled in academia, in applying theories to actual warfare.

The kooks sitting near the upper echelons of the military Garden hierarchy, the _authentic_ analysts (a new department in each Garden, meant to research and advise Garden on the _best_ course of action) could not have been more wrong.

The possibility was slim to none.

The world was changing, people had First World problems. No one cared about archaic folklore, as professors would call the actual events of the Sorceress Wars. Everyone wanted _new_ rights, since the establishment of a new Galbadian government, the revolution of Timbre, the re-emergence of the Dollet Monarchy and so on and so forth. The masses had no time to worship and raise from the netherworld tyrannical mad women with a penchant for gothic robes and thick goth makeup. That died with Ultimecia.

As the world diverged and converged, Garden prepared and flourished. The preparation for war, for violence to garner success in politics showed its timelessness. Selphie and she should going deep cover in a terrorist cell whose objective was to overthrow Esthar Conservative Claudius Mulfreigh and his policies on immigration and unionist for the continuation of the Esthar Republic.

But, no. They were sent to collect pointless information meant to help them retrieve even more ridiculously, the non-existent body of a dead mad woman – albeit a woman who had magical powers.

“Hey Quiz, you’re going uni-brow. Take off your thinking cap for a bit, I think Captain Sparrow over there is packing heat.” Selphie levelled the man in question with a plain stare that conspicuously hid a keen and alert mind. “Your two o’clock, possible assailant is carrying a customised Exeter.”

*

 


End file.
